PLEASE ENSURE
YOU READ THIS
TO THE END,
PREFERABLY
WHEN YOU ARE
LESS BUSY.I
can only
imagine...Heaven
as written
by a 17 Year
Old Boy

This is
excellent and
really gets
you thinking
about what
will happen in
Heaven.17-year-old
Brian Moore
had only a
short time to
write
something for
a class. The
subject was
what Heaven
was like. "I
wowed 'em," he
later told his
father, Bruce.
It's a killer.
It's the bomb.
It's the best
thing I ever
wrote." It
also was the
last.Brian's
parents had
forgotten
about the
essay when a
cousin found
it while
cleaning out
the teenager's
locker at
Teays Valley
High School in
Pickaway
County

Brian had been
dead only
hours, but his
parents
desperately
wanted every
piece of his
life near
them, notes
from
classmates and
teachers, and
his homework.
Only two
months before,
he had
handwritten
the essay
about
encountering
Jesus in a
file room full
of cards
detailing
every moment
of the teen's
life. But it
was only after
Brian's death
that Beth and
Bruce Moore
realized that
their son had
described his
view of
heaven.It makes such
an impact that
people want to
share it. "You
feel like you
are there,"
Mr. Moore
said. Brian
Moore died May
27, 1997, the
day after
Memorial Day.
He was driving
home from a
friend's house
when his car
went off
Bulen-Pierce
Road in
Pickaway
County and
struck a
utility pole.
He emerged
from the wreck
unharmed but
stepped on a
downed power
line and was
electrocuted.

The Moore 's
framed a copy
of Brian's
essay and hung
it among the
family
portraits in
the living
room. "I think
God used him
to make a
point. I think
we were meant
to find it and
make something
out of it,"
Mrs. Moore
said of the
essay. She and
her husband
want to share
their son's
vision of life
after death.
"I'm happy for
Brian. I know
he's in
heaven. I know
I'll see him.

Here is
Brian's essay
entitled:"The Room."In that place
between
wakefulness
and dreams, I
found myself
in the room.
There were no
distinguishing
features
except for the
one wall
covered with
small index
card files.
They were like
the ones in
libraries that
list titles by
author or
subject in
alphabetical
order. But
these files,
which
stretched from
floor to
ceiling and
seemingly
endless in
either
direction, had
very different
headings.As I drew
near the wall
of files, the
first to catch
my attention
was one that
read "Girls I
have liked." I
opened it and
began flipping
through the
cards. I
quickly shut
it, shocked to
realize that I
recognized the
names written
on each one.
And then
without being
told, I knew
exactly where
I was. This
lifeless room
with its small
files was a
crude catalog
system for my
life. Here
were written
the actions of
my every
moment, big
and small, in
a detail my
memory
couldn't
match. A sense
of wonder and
curiosity,
coupled with
horror,
stirred within
me as I began
randomly
opening files
and exploring
their content.
Some brought
joy and sweet
memories;
others a sense
of shame and
regret so
intense that I
would look
over my
shoulder to
see if anyone
was watching.

A file named
"Friends" was
next to one
marked
"Friends I
have
betrayed." The
titles ranged
from the
mundane to the
outright
weird. "Books
I Have Read,"
"Lies I Have
Told,"
"Comfort I
have Given,"
"Jokes I Have
Laughed at."

Some were
almost
hilarious in
their
exactness:
"Things I've
yelled at my
brothers."
Others I
couldn't laugh
at: "Things I
Have Done in
My Anger",
"Things I Have
Muttered Under
My Breath at
My Parents." I
never ceased
to be
surprised by
the contents
Often there
were many more
cards than
expected.
Sometimes
fewer than I
hoped. I was
overwhelmed by
the sheer
volume of the
life I had
lived.

Could it be
possible that
I had the time
in my years to
fill each of
these
thousands or
even millions
of cards? But
each card
confirmed this
truth. Each
was written in
my own
handwriting.
Each signed
with my
signature.

When I pulled
out the file
marked "TV
Shows I have
watched," I
realized the
files grew to
contain their
contents. The
cards were
packed
tightly, and
yet after two
or three
yards, I
hadn't found
the end of the
file. I shut
it, shamed,
not so much by
the quality of
shows but more
by the vast
time I knew
that file
represented.

When I came to
a file marked
"Lustful
Thoughts," I
felt a chill
run through my
body. I pulled
the file out
only an inch,
not willing to
test its size,
and drew out a
card. I
shuddered at
its detailed
content. I
felt sick to
think that
such a moment
had been
recorded. An
almost animal
rage broke on
me.

One thought
dominated my
mind: No one
must ever see
these cards!
No one must
ever see this
room! I have
to destroy
them!" In
insane frenzy
I yanked the
file out. Its
size didn't
matter now. I
had to empty
it and burn
the cards...But as I took
it at one end
and began
pounding it on
the floor, I
could not
dislodge a
single card. I
became
desperate and
pulled out a
card, only to
find it as
strong as
steel when I
tried to tear
it. Defeated
and utterly
helpless, I
returned the
file to its
slot. Leaning
my forehead
against the
wall, I let
out a long,
self-pitying
sigh.

And then I saw
it. The title
bore "People I
Have Shared
the Gospel
With." The
handle was
brighter than
those around
it, newer,
almost unused.
I pulled on
its handle and
a small box
not more than
three inches
long fell into
my hands. I
could count
the cards it
contained on
one hand.And then the
tears came. I
began to weep.
Sobs so deep
that they
hurt. They
started in my
stomach and
shook through
me. I fell on
my knees and
cried. I cried
out of shame,
from the
overwhelming
shame of it
all. The rows
of file
shelves
swirled in my
tear-filled
eyes. No one
must ever,
ever know of
this room. I
must lock it
up and hide
the key. But
then as I
pushed away
the tears, I
saw Him.

No, please not
Him. Not here.
Oh, anyone but
Jesus. I
watched
helplessly as
He began to
open the files
and read the
cards. I
couldn't bear
to watch His
response. And
in the moments
I could bring
myself to look
at His face, I
saw a sorrow
deeper than my
own. He seemed
to intuitively
go to the
worst boxes.Why did He
have to read
every one?
Finally He
turned and
looked at me
from across
the room. He
looked at me
with pity in
His eyes. But
this was a
pity that
didn't anger
me. I dropped
my head,
covered my
face with my
hands and
began to cry
again. He
walked over
and put His
arm around me.
He could have
said so many
things. But He
didn't say a
word. He just
cried with me.

Then He got up
and walked
back to the
wall of files.
Starting at
one end of the
room, He took
out a file
and, one by
one, began to
sign His name
over mine on
each card.
"No!" I
shouted
rushing to
Him. All I
could find to
say was "No,
no," as I
pulled the
card from
Him.. His name
shouldn't be
on these
cards. But
there it was,
written in red
so rich, so
dark, and so
alive.

The name of
Jesus covered
mine. It was
written with
His blood. He
gently took
the card back
He smiled a
sad smile and
began to sign
the cards. I
don't think
I'll ever
understand how
He did it so
quickly, but
the next
instant it
seemed I heard
Him close the
last file and
walk back to
my side. He
placed His
hand on my
shoulder and
said, "It is
finished."

I stood up,
and He led me
out of the
room. There
was no lock on
its door.
There were
still cards to
be written.

"For God so
loved the
world that He
gave His only
Son, that
whoever
believes in
Him shall not
perish but
have eternal
life." John
3:16

IF THERE IS
ONE EMAIL THAT
I HAVE READ
THAT NEEDS TO
GO AROUND THE
WORLD, IT IS
THIS ONE,
PLEASE PASS
THIS TO EVERY
ONE YOU KNOW,
CHRISTIAN OR
NOT! "LET'S
FILL OUR OWN
FILE CARD" AND
MAY GOD BLESS
YOU ALL!